1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 6 here comes the voodoo what’cha gone do when my crew back from the dead once more again f*ckin’ up the flow again, f*ck it here we go again oh, not me again, last time i wrecked sh*t burned down the church comin’ through like the exorcist next to this, you get put on my sh*t list throw lifers get dissed you can’t f*ck with this wicked wild, wicked style, i don’t give a f*ck i’ll get buck wild i’m psycho just like michael and i might go a little something like this, suicidalist dangerous minds bust when i bust digging up dust now i must, in god you trust if i add just then i add just this no justice, no peace, bl**dy body police belly of da pig got me fiendin’ for a cracker jack be nimble make your body tremble cardiac arrest for the one in the chest then i k-i-double l t-h-e-f-e-t-u-s yes, i’m down with n-a-t-a-s, i suggest you try but don’t cry, ’cause the wicked sh*t’ll never die

once again i ressurected n*gg*z unexpected a closed casket when i leaped out and blasted a basket case brother of insanity i’m not alone havin’ fatal thoughts of puttin’ a chrome to my dome now what kinda wicked sh*t? this some ol’ wicked sh*t not so many n*gg*z all over devil diggin’ sh*t stay up off my d*ck, my style’s sick, but i’m so sick of this helter skelter bite my sh*t, it’s so ridiculous i know my sh*t’s phatter than luther vandross psychic connection wanna hit me with the holy ghost overdose, diagnose, n*gg*z in a comotose once i buck, buck ya, n*gg* motherf*ck ya voodoo wicked child born a b*st*rd visions of bl**dy bodies bein’ blasted thinkin’ of excuses, voices in my head mental abuses loses my mind, thought the flatline refuses to answer, you can fess sh*t as you question me and myself verses smith and wesson i’m that n*gg* with the wicked *ss flow b*tch you better act like you know ’cause the wicked sh*t will never die

the wicked sh*t will never 187 never go to heaven and f*ck that reverend all day whenever and feel like givin’ up, mind starts blowin’ up some old wicked sh*t, once again i’m throwin’ up a fit, i’m never gonna get into heaven that’s why i bought me a three 57 f*ck a reverend, and god i can’t trust is true so when i go to h*ll, better me and not you i’ma walk the bl**dy trail and you can follow if you want if you truly understand but my man i think you don’t i’m a suicidal revital, my t*tle’s homicidal so many n*gg*z will die when i write my recital they don’t understand that i gotta plan for the klan the area nation, white caucasian i’m sick of all the bullsh*t i’d rather be dead but first i better put a bullet in your head instead they said that everything i said was a lie but if you go and kill the fetus you cry but the wicked sh*t will never die